


A Miracle in the Madness

by SherlockWolf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-09 21:45:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4365290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockWolf/pseuds/SherlockWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean new that things had to change, and that they had to change now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Miracle in the Madness

    When Dean reappeared from the depths of the bunker an hour or so later, he was showered, dressed, and somehow, calm.

Not to mention surprised.

The angel was exactly as he'd left him: sprawled on his back next to the oiled-up book pile, staring at the angel blade that was shoved into the book next to his head.

The bodies of the Styne's were gone, as was the blood their wounds had spilled on the floor. Dean assumed the angel had mojo'd them away. Unlike his own wounds. The angel's arm was still bent at an awkward angle, and he was covered in his own dried blood.

How considerate.

“Still here, huh?” Dean commented as he passed the angel. He began picking books up from the floor, although he had no idea where to start to fix the mess that those Styne-dicks had created.

Then again, fixing messes was never his strong suit.

“Yes.” The angel grunted through the dried blood that had caked his mouth somewhat shut.

“Thought you'd've run off to Sammy by now.” Dean taunted. Just because he felt calmer now that the violence of the day had passed didn't mean that he was any less infuriated with the angel and his brother. He finally decided to set a book shelf right-side up before he went for the books.

The angel chose not to respond. That was fine with Dean. He wasn't really in the mood for talking–or being lectured–anyway.

Glancing down, the picture of Mary, Sam, and himself caught his attention from it's place on the book pile.

“Those bastards.” He mumbled, and he knelt to pick it up. He set it on the table he'd righted behind him and went for the next book.

He couldn't stop thinking about the picture, though. The Styne's had been about to destroy the only physical remnant of his mother that he had left. It was a good thing they were already dead.

The smile on Mary's face brought back the most recent happy memory of his life. Himself, Sammy, Charlie, and Cas, here in the bunker, relaxed, happy, and just having a good time being together.

Mistakenly, he'd thought that more nights like that would follow.

Charlie.

The sister he'd never known he'd wanted. She'd taught him so much. Her loyalty had brought her so much pain. And yet, she came back. Again and again. Even though she knew he and Sam put her life in danger.

Just like they put _everyone_ in danger.

Their mother.

Their father.

Bobby.

Ellen.

Jo.

Ash.

Garth.

Jody.

Claire.

Kevin.

“Dean.”

Cas _._

“Dean.”

_Cas._

“ _Dean!”_

The third repetition of his name jolted Dean from his thoughts.

“What?” He snapped, maybe too harshly. He couldn't decide if the angel deserved his anger or not.

“Dean.” Cas grunted, almost as if he was relived that the man in question had finally responded.

“Dude. Broken record much?” Dean turned around to glare at the angel. Cas wasn't looking at him though, which made his glare pointless. Damn angel was still focused on the blade.

Disappointing.

“Why?”

“Use your big boy words, Cas.” Dean teased, even though he knew exactly what the angel was asking.

“ _Why?”_ He insisted.

“Dunno.” Dean shrugged, turning his attention back to the task at hand. All these damn books...he'd really gotten there just in the nick of time. Putting them all back was going to suck.

“Use your big boy words.”

Cas' reply, nearly two minutes later, drew a short laugh out of Dean.

“How's 'I don't know?' Better?”

“No.”

Dean rolled his eyes and began putting his stuff the Styne's had dumped on the pile back into the cardboard box. The thought of losing his _Motorhead_ album was painful.

“Dean.”

“Cas.” Dean grunted instinctively as he picked up the box and headed toward his room to put it back in there. The angel didn't say anything, and Dean assumed he would forget whatever he was going to say by the time he came back into the library.

Too bad he was wrong. Some silence would have been welcome.

“I would have let you.”

Dean had barely moved into the room before those words were in the air, twisting in his mind, tangling in his soul...

_Cas._

Dean walked over to Cas and sat on the floor next to him, glaring down at the angel who still hadn't looked up at him.

“Don't say shit like that.”

“What if I mean it?” Cas whispered, eyes still fixed on that damn blade...Dean ripped it out of the book and threw it across the room. It stuck itself into the bookshelf Dean had set back up earlier. Just another reminder of his steroid-like power. As if the broken body of his best friend lying next to him wasn't reminder enough.

Cas finally looked up. Finally. Those big, blue eyes, where Dean had always felt safe, home, _loved._

Except, the last time he'd looked into those eyes, he'd felt hate. Not Cas' hate, but his own.

“I almost wish you had.”

 _What._ Dean stared at Cas, completely shocked at those words. Had Cas really just wished himself _dead?_

“It _hurts_ , Dean. Seeing you like this. Ruined. Hateful. Violent. You are not the same man I fell for. And it _hurts_. More so than losing my grace.” A tear slipped down the angel's cheek, creating a new path where ones from earlier had dried.

For once, Dean had no snarky come back. No sarcastic one-liner. Because he knew how much pain Cas had gone through when Metatron had stripped him of his wings. It was probably similar to those times he thought he'd lost Sam. Or similar to losing Kevin. Or Jo. Or Charlie. Or mom, or dad, or Bobby...

 _Hurt_ was a good way to describe it.

“Why'd you let me get that far?” He finally asked. Because, though he hadn't killed the angel, he certainly could have, and Cas hadn't done _shit_ to fight back.

“Because...Dean...I can't hurt you.”

Dean barked a laugh. “Seriously, dude? You've beat the living shit out of me _twice_!”

Castiel sighed, finally–painfully–sitting up. He was now facing away from Dean, looking off at the book pile, and the man felt slightly disappointed in the break of eye contact with the angel.

“In my defense, the first time I was infuriated that you wanted to be my brother's toy, and the second time I was like you: not myself.”

_Not myself._

Dean hadn't felt himself since he'd gotten the mark from Cain.

“I still don't get why couldn't you hurt me this time; your life was on the line!” Dean protested.

Surely, if he were in Cas' position of having equal power with the one trying to kill him, he would've fought back...

No.

Sure, there was nothing he _could_ have done those two times as a weak human to fight back against an angel who was hellbent on bringing him to his death. But if it had been anyone or anything else, Dean knew he would have at least _tried._

But not Cas. Never Cas. Dean had let the angel damage him the first time because he'd more or less given up on himself. The second time though...

Dean very clearly remembered the words that were fighting to slip out of his mouth as the angel had beaten him senseless.

_This isn't you._

_I know you're in there._

_We're family._

_We need you._

_I need you._

_I love you._

Oh.

That was it then. Why Cas had let Dean throw him around.

“Dean.”

Dean looked up from the floor to find Cas watching him, those soulful blue eyes wary and...sad.

“Cas, I...” But what could he say? His best friend had just told him that he would've been _happy_ to die at his hand. That was...

Too much.

Dean broke.

He honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd cried so hard. His body was _heaving_ with sobs, tears falling in buckets. Like some gross sitcom meltdown. Ugh.

But how could he not? He'd nearly _murdered_ his best friend. The only best friend he'd had in his entire life.

_Cas._

The angel hadn't moved. It was clear that he didn't know what to do, which was fine with Dean, because he couldn't trust the monster he'd become not to turn his tears into rage and actually succeed in killing the angel.

“Dean. Let me help you. Please, Dean.”

“No.” Dean croaked. Cas couldn't come near him. Not anymore. He wasn't safe, hadn't been in a long time. He had to go.

The thought had barely crossed his mind before Dean was on his feet and racing back to his room in the bunker. He locked himself in, not sure if the angel would try to follow him or not, and began packing his clothes into his duffle.

Then he sat on his bed and thought. What could he do to get this damn thing off his arm? He could...No, they tried that. Maybe...

That was it. He could go to Death. Ask the man himself if he could finally cash in on that long awaited punishment he so righteously deserved.

When he opened the door, he found Cas leaning against the wall across from it. Still bloody.

Dean froze in the stare of those ocean eyes. Damn. He'd miss Cas.

“Where are you going?”

“To save you. And Sam. Because it's too late to save anyone else.”

When Dean walked away, the angel didn't stop him.

A miracle in the madness.


End file.
